


Empire of Ash

by Anaethus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Early Modern Era, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Multi, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaethus/pseuds/Anaethus
Summary: Twenty years after the conclusion of the Great War, the world maintains a fragile peace. As the great powers prepare themselves for a new conflict, the sudden assassination of Crown Prince Almath Reymonte throws the Ferixi Empire into chaos. With the culprit unknown and latent political tensions escalating, the fate of one of the most powerful nations hangs in the balance.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	1. Prologue

What happens to a god forgotten?

It was a question he’d often wondered at, locked away in darkness for years unending. Does it fade away like a memory? Or does it live on, a decaying monument to a dead sacrality?

After ten thousand years, he’d yet to come to answer.

The others had long since surrendered. What to he could not say, but they had surrendered nonetheless, trapped in this state between life and death. He knew not what became of them. They existed still, he could sense them drifting around him, bundles of consciousness, but what became of thoughts that stopped thinking? Another question to ponder perhaps...

Only he remained as he had once been. Only he remained to ask questions. The others had tried at first, to exist beyond existence. They had sworn oaths of vengeance against those that had wronged them, planned their glorious return to power, and dreamed of days long past when all was right with the world. But one could only hold on to hope for so long. The years stretched on, and the darkness remained unrelenting. It would have been ironic, had any but he remembered. Eight gods lost to hell.

Of course, it was not surprising he alone endured. His nature was to continue. He was he who read the paths of time, who looked into the heart of things and saw their nature. Even here, in this plane of nonbeing, he had more than enough to think about. If only the Watcher had not abandoned them, he would have understood. If only his brethren could be the same…

But no, he was a being, and they but ideas. They had always needed others to validate their existence, whereas he required but himself. Alone he could survive, could thrive, had thrived in fact. As for them, well, he supposed the question to ask for them was what happens to an idea forgotten? Can a thought exist independent of its thinker, or is it created solely in the process of conception? Either way, they weren’t real, not truly. It simply was the way they had always worked. Even back when they had been revered, he walked in paths of solitude while they played kings and sages. Perhaps had he strode amongst the earth as they had, they would never have be put here. Perhaps the Hunger might have been contained...

Alas, he had thought many a time about it. He knew better than any hoping to change the past was a hopeless endeavor.

It was intriguing however to ponder what would happen if they were released. It was unlikely to occur, all that knew of them, even the Jailors, would have died long ago, and the Watcher would not care how long they remained trapped, but were they to return to the world, would the others regain their minds? Even forgotten, could they be made to remember themselves? Or would they remain lost, thoughts drifting aimlessly on the winds? It was a worthless consideration, but of course, that was all that remained to him now. Questions that would never be answered, to be asked again and again. He would lose himself as well, eventually. It might take an eternity, but here an eternity was what he had. One could not endure darkness forever.

But what was that? A change in the pattern. Something new, for the first time in ten thousand years, a single break from the dark? It felt almost like...a bridge, a path between two worlds. But no, that couldn’t be. The Jailors would have taken precautions against that. It would have be something larger, much larger…

He went towards it, feeling for the breach. It was much larger than a bridge. It felt almost like...a city? No, that was impossible. A city, here? But yes, it was a city. A city with looming pyramids, with people screaming in terror, running down streets between sandstone buildings. It was clear they had not intended this. But who had the power to move an entire city? Even the Lady would have had difficulty doing that...

But there was something more important than that. Not for ten thousand years had he felt it, but the air here was heavy with magic. Power, raw power within his reach, and with it, freedom. He drew it towards him, desperate to feed, to grow, to escape, but it was wrong. There was something tainted about it. It would not abide his pull, would not bend to his will. And then he noticed it. The city was expanding.

No, the city was stretching. The fabric of space was pulling apart at the seams, pushing outward until reality itself was ripped apart. And if that happened…

For the first time in an age, he felt afraid.

He rushed through the city, searching for another way out. He could always return to the Prison, it would be safe from this doomed reality, but if it had reached his Realm, might it not touch another? It was desperate, but if he was right…

There! An opening, a small one, but an opening nonetheless, a space where two realities intersected. He rushed to, feeling the city being to disintegrate, space breaking apart into nothingness. He was almost there, almost…

He burst through to the other side and was greeted by light. The first light in ten thousand years. He had almost forgotten what it was like. It was the silvery pale shine of the moon, his moon. This was his Realm then. The one where he’d been called a god, the Seer of the Threads, so many years ago. He was finally free then. He was finally home.

He should have felt excited. He had escaped ten thousand years of imprisonment, had fled the slow decline that was to be his fate. But he did not. He felt wrong. There was something not right about the world. The magic still did not come when he beckoned. But why?

“So it's true then.”

A voice! A person. Perhaps a body for him to borrow.

He sought the source of the sound. He was in a desert, stretching on for what seemed forever, but he did not recognize it. This was to be expected. He had been the one to recommend the Breaking, but that crater shouldn’t be there. It was far too large, several miles in diameter, and its shape was too perfectly spherical. How had that-

Ah, the city of course. That must have been where it rested before it had been sent into the Void.  
A man stood nearby, an Alvus, one of the Imlari, his hair white and his skin a dark violet. He knelt down before the crater, tears streaming down his face, but...what power! Fortunately, he didn’t notice him. He doubted there was much to notice. Without magic, he was nothing more than thoughts, and besides, the man looked to be occupied with tears.

He turned his attention back to the world around him instead. There was much about it he would need to learn, ten thousand years worth of changes to explore. It would be fascinating. The prospect almost made him forget about his brethren, who still lay witless within the Prison, but...no. He could still feel her. The tenth, the Forsaken, the Hunger. How had she escaped? They had locked her beneath the earth, where no things did or could ever live, far away from those who might free her. But she was free nonetheless, and...powerful. She must have been released centuries ago, but if so, why had the world not ended?

It mattered not. If she had escaped, the others would need to be freed. And that would require more power. Much more power.


	2. Chapter 2

_ It all began with a party.  _

Fex found himself thinking that quite a lot lately. “Everything begins with a party” would probably be a more accurate summation of the Ferixi Empire: from idle flings to global wars, countless wars, romances, and catastrophes could find their root in that most esteemed of aristocratic pastimes, but he liked his version better. It captured the uniqueness, the individual potential of a day that promised no matter how boring standing around on guard duty in some pointlessly extravagant ballroom may be, there was always the possibility of excitement on the horizon. And it could all just happen to begin with a party. Every adventure had to start somewhere after all, and in Ferixon, a fancy ball or soirée was a better place than most.

And so, armed for what seemed the thousandth time with that simple thought so rich with possibilities, Fex Illunveris found himself once again in the midst of an outlandish party full of outlandish people amusing himself with equally outlandish dreams of all the things he planned to do when it was over. Singing, drinking, and girls were of course the usual subjects, but he threw in the occasional dragon or wizard for the sake of the fantastic, leaving him only partially aware of the reason he was there in the first place. 

Almath Reymonte, Crown Prince of Ferixon, stood in front of him, resplendently garbed in the sort of blindly imperious air unique to those who grew up knowing they’d one day rule an Empire. He was at the time occupied conversing with the vast throng of lords and ladies crowding to bask in his most royal presence, and so, fortunately, didn’t seem to pay any more attention to his bodyguard daydreaming behind him than he got in return. Not that there ever was much deserving of attention of course. Most of Fex’s job was reducible to just standing somewhere or next to someone. For all the pomposity of the title “Shield of the Prince”, there was so little actual “shielding” involved in the position it could just as well be occupied by a statue.

“It is a pleasure, Crown Prince, to have you here in Jordune,” He absently heard Inero Masrilyn, the Lord Governor of Camronde, say with all the appropriate reverence. “And to know that even after twenty long years, Her Imperial Majesty still remembers the pains our people suffered during the Great War. I trust your trip from the capital was not too uncomfortable?”

“Too uncomfortable? Why, Lord Governor, there is no level of discomfort in the world which might prevent me from properly honoring the sacrifices my subjects made in defense of the Crown,” The Prince replied, although Fex himself wasn’t all too sure how throwing an exclusive, extravagant party said “I honor your sacrifices, starving peasant”. “This celebration is in truth too small a gesture for an occasion as momentous as the twentieth anniversary of the war’s end. I had implored my mother to accompany me, but, I fear, she has other pressing matters demanding her attention in Kal Serena. You must forgive me for coming alone.”

“Of course Your Grace,” Masrilyn said hastily. “The presence of one chosen by the Eternal Flame such as yourself is an honor beyond all others. I can only hope that this party is to your enjoyment.”

“It is the equal of any thrown in the capital, Lord Governor,” Almath replied. “But I must apologize, I fear as much as I wish we might spend the night conversing, there are others I must see to. Fire Light Your Path.”

“Fire Light Your Path,” 

It took a moment for Fex to notice that the two of them had finished talking and were now parting ways. Once he did he hastily followed, shadowing Almath’s way across the ballroom through a sea of fine silks and glittering jewels. The added focus required to navigate the crowd snatched him from his daydreaming, and so he shifted his attention to the Prince instead. One of his friends had jokingly theorized once that the only reason he was stuck guarding Almath was that they looked so alike any assassin was bound to get confused, but personally he’d never seen the resemblance. While they both had the same red hair and bright green eyes, they could hardly look more different. Almath was every bit the Prince, back straight, bedecked in a long crimson coat with golden embroidery and wearing a ruby circlet atop his head. After almost a year of guarding him, Fex had never known him to  _ not _ look princely. He was quite sure even if the palace were suddenly attacked one night, Almath would insist on combing his hair and putting on proper attire before doing anything about it. 

Fex by contrast was proud to say he struck a far more roguish figure than his lord, and more irresistibly dashing of course: his short red hair untidy, his brilliant green eyes alight with excitement, and his unwholesomely handsome face almost always marked by a slight smile. Being a Fex’Alvus, descended from the most noble exiles of old Valasa, his skin bore a slight golden tinge, which although not very distinguishable from the range of human skin tones, supposedly marked him as a bearer of that proud and ancient culture. It also consigned him to far less impressive clothes than all the human lords around him of course, and he wore a simple outfit of black pants, a red shirt and a long black coat with the golden Phoenix of the Reymonte sewn into its left breast-pocket. An elegant sword was strapped to his hip as well, although he doubted he would need it, and a golden ring embedded with a ruby marked him as the personal guard of the Prince. In all, he thought he looked rather more dashing than his Prince, if he did say so himself. 

From Masriyln it was on to the Lady Isvaelin Marlien lin Morais. She was tall and gaunt, her skin the Camrondian tan, with a serious face and sharp eyes, her grey hair tied into a simple knot and her dress plain and crimson. As for jewelry, she wore only a single golden wedding band and a pearl necklace, fairly tame in comparison to the extravagance of most Ferixi aristocrats. However, that was more a statement of power than anything. As the Lady Isvaelin of Camronde, Morais was amongst the highest ranked nobles within the Council of Lords. The others might need beautiful dresses and gems to display their wealth; she needed only her title, and Camrondians had never been partial to overly extravagant displays of wealth.

“Lady Isvaelin,” Almath said, a most likely false smile crossing his face as he approached Marlien. 

“Crown Prince,” She replied curtly, bowing first as was customary. “It is an honor to host you here in Jordune: Camronde has not known the grace of an Imperial visit for many a year now.”

Almath returned a slight bow of his own. “The honor is mine, my lady. Of all the jewels in the Empire’s crown, Jordune is truly the finest. It is a testament to the legacy of your family that it still stands as proud and glorious as ever throughout the many ages of bloodshed and strife our nation has known. I only regret not having had the pleasure of your company on the way here from the capital.”

“Apologies for my absence, your Grace,” She replied cooly. “But I rarely have enough time to spend at home here in the east, what with the Council of Lords demanding my attention back in Kal Serena. In my old age, I thought it appropriate to come early and enjoy one of my estates in the countryside.”

The Prince gave a feigned chuckle. “No need for an apology my lady. We must all be allowed our pleasures.”

“Indeed,” Marlien said laconically, giving the slightest of nods. “If you’ll excuse me however, I must need speak with my brother. It has been many years since last we saw each other. Fire light your path.”

“Fire light your path.”

They exchanged one last bow before going their separate ways, Marlien and her small crowd of attendants hurrying off across the hall. Fex did not miss the subtle message sent by her early end to the conversation. Even he knew that the Lady Isvaelin and the Crown Prince were political enemies. Why he couldn’t say, but he doubted her abrupt exit was intended as anything other than a slight.

As Fex expected, Almath did not react well. “The Prince’s hand balled into a fist, and without turning in the slightest, he uttered a sharp command. “Guard, fetch me a glass of wine. I’m parched.”

“It shall be done, Your Grace,” Fex replied immediately. He didn’t bother with bowing, instead simply turning around and heading off in search of a drink.

He ought to have taken it as a sign of disrespect of course, it was beneath one of his standing to be treated as little more than a waiter, or referred to as “guard” for that matter. But he didn’t care. He departed through the crowd, slipping between noble men and noble women as they went about their noble business. _ I suppose the atmosphere is so noble that even the most mundane deeds are imbued with a sort of pompous dignity _ , he mused wryly, not that it mattered. Anything was better than standing off on the sidelines; watching the same conversation played out before him again and again had gotten predictably boring. 

The party was being held in the ballroom of the Palace of Lions, the ancient seat of the Morais Kings from which they’d ruled the east for almost two thousand years. Located at the center of the city of Jordune, the gargantuan structure had five twisting towers and statues of lions decorating its alcoves and gardens although its exterior was, by Ferixi standards at least, relatively plain. Of course, Camronde had been made to kneel by Emperor Fexus I at the Battle of Vera Avon over almost a thousand years ago, and the Morais had gone from kings to mere Isvaelins. Now it was home only to the Lord Governor and the other officials appointed by the crown, a testament to the ascendency of the Reymonte. 

Most of the space was crowded with extravagantly-dressed guests, a vast throng of lords, ladies, artists, local notables, assemblymen, judges, Enkindlers, and intectuals from Jordune and the surrounding area, but there were others like him scattered about. Members of the Oculi Aentherium, the personal guards of the Imperial Family. Fex’Alvi all, the faint golden tinge their skin bore marked them for indifference, and the unembellished black coats they wore set them apart from the sparkling garb of their betters. Some were attached to members of the Imperial Government, ministers of state and distant relatives of the Empress, others stood still and sentinel, the silent watchers of the night, while the most discrete amongst them blended into the crowd, fishing for any information that might be useful.

Several less respectable servants, simply dressed in black suits, scurried about the hall as well, offering drinks and appetizers to the gathered guests, and it was towards one of these that Fex walked. 

He picked up two glasses of wine, gulping down one himself and keeping hold of the other, scanning the room for Almath. 

“I see our illustrious Prince still has only the most important jobs for his trusted guard,” An amused voice suddenly said from behind him.

Fex turned around, grinning at the sight of an alvus with curly golden hair and bright blue eyes walking towards him. Avelor Landrius was only a year older than him, and part of that group of young, irresponsible Oculi Fex had often been most unfairly accused by aunt of corrupting. His skin was slightly darker than most and he wore a perpetual grin completely at odds with the stoic composure expected of his position. Not that Fex could judge him for that of course.

“You know, I’m fairly sure you drinking at more parties wasn’t exactly what Valera had in mind when she made you Shield,” Avelor said as he stopped in front of him, crossing his arms. 

“Well, what can I say, he’s very worried about being poisoned, our Prince” Fex shot back with a smirk as he started sipping from the other glass. He quickly glanced at their surroundings. Apparently, none of the lords had deigned to notice their conversation. “It’s the least I can do to put his mind at ease. Besides, if I’m not wrong, you have a certain former Princess to protect yourself, don’t you?”

Avelor scoffed, grabbing a glass of his own from a nearby waiter: “That former Princess doesn’t even know my name; keeps calling me “Marthold” or something. Doubt she noticed I left. It’s not like it matters anyway. I mean, who’s honestly going to try to kill the Empress’s eighty year old aunt? It’d be the most pointless assassination in Ferixi history. Valera might as well have given the position to a dog for all the difference it’d make.”

“Well, a dog might piss on the ballroom floor, whereas you wouldn’t. I assume.”

Avelor rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Not sure I do actually,” Fex said. “I’m stuck with Almath for the next forty to sixty years or so. At least with Oneria you can say she probably won’t be sticking around much longer.”

“That woman’s survived more than enough to make me doubt that,” Avelor replied grimly, gulping down half his glass. Fex didn’t have to ask what he meant. Lady Ocaria Reymonte had not only managed to endure the reign of her mad nephew, the Emperor Dorian, but also had the distinction of being the Imperial Family’s sole survivor of the current Empress, Fyxora’s, bloody rise to power, mostly by virtue of her irrelevance. It had actually been Fex’s aunt, the head of the Oculi Aetherium, Valera, who’d been responsible for carrying out the coup during the political crisis following the Great War. He always had a hard time believing she’d been only a few years older than him at the time....

There were a few moments of contemplative silence as they both considered that before Avelor finally said, this time more cheerfully. “Anyway, I take it Almath is as insufferable as ever.”

Fex’s grin immediately returned, and he replied in mock admonition. “Why Avelor, it is most improper to speak of the Prince that way. Almath is the Chosen of the Eternal Flame, Crown Prince of the Empire, the Most Holy Scion of-” 

“You’re one to talk,” He said dryly, cutting him off.

Fex shrugged. “Eh, at least I’m doing my job, which is more than you can say.”

“Well, maybe when Almath becomes Emperor, you could give me a job I actually find worth doing?” 

“Maybe,” Fex said nonchalantly. “But then again, being able to torture you and Lavelia would probably be my sole consolation for having to deal with Almath’s unbearable ego as Emperor. Besides, it’s not exactly like our Prince is all too fond of me. Doubt he’ll keep me around when he’s finally sitting on the throne.”

Avelor suddenly started smirking. “I imagine his wife will though.”

“That was one time,” Fex replied defensively. “And it was only a serving girl he thought was pretty. Doubt he even bothered to learn her name.”

“He did seem a bit bitter about it though.”

“Almath is bitter when people use the wrong honorifics; I don’t think that was anything exceptional. Anyway, don’t you think that joke’s getting a little old?”

“If you weren’t so bothered by it I’m sure it would be,” Avelor teased. “Besides, since when were you one to blush?”

“Perhaps I just have discretion.” 

Avelor was drinking when he suddenly burst out laughing, spurting out wine in a fine mist. Even the nearby lords turned to look disapprovingly at the display, if only for a second. 

“Funny,” He eventually managed to chuckle, wiping his lips dry. 

“Well, it’s not like you’ve been particularly discrete either, what with that Philodius you’re with.” Fex shot back. “You just don’t have an aunt hovering over you all the time.”

“I don’t see Valera anywhere, do you?” 

“Just wait. Wouldn’t be surprised if she were suddenly to jump out from behind those curtains over there.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Avelor glanced down at Fex’s now half-empty glass. “But anyway, as fun as this little distraction’s been, I think you have a drink to deliver.”

Fex followed his gaze, realizing how much he’d already had. He sighed, gulping down the rest before saying. “Suppose we ought to get back to work.” He handed off the two glasses to a nearby servant and took a third. “Fire Light Your Path.”

“Fire Light Your Path,” 

The two pressed two fingers over their hearts and with that walked off in opposite directions, Avelor making his way back to Lady Oneira while Fex searched the room for the Prince. It didn’t take long before he found him again in conversation with a group of wizards. At their head was the First Sorcerer of the Hold of Jordune, Alexandros Imroeth. He was a tall, thin man, bald with a forked beard growing grey with age and dressed in fabulous red robes. Beside him sat his familiar, a giant cat with thick, spotted grey fur, twin tails, and a third eye in its forehead, darting about independent of the other two. While living in the palace had made siel like that a familiar enough sight to him, Fex always felt on edge when one was around.

“Prince Almath,” Alexandros was saying, bowing as a decorative circle of white fire sprouted around his feet. “I am most honored to stand in your august presence, Champion of the Eternal Flame.”

“Sorcerer,” Almath replied, not deigning to do more. Wizards, unlike in Maikeria or the Union, were seen as little more than glorified servants; they did not merit any more than the barest pleasantries.

Still, Alexandros continued unabated. “It fills my heart with joy to know that so many still remember the sacrifices of those who fought in the Great War. I myself was stationed here in the east to combat the Jontari as they swept down from the mountains, although my posting was not near so terrible as those in the west who clashed with the Nehkerati in Fenru Doridreth or the Nagani Sheki. I recall the Battle of Griffin’s Pass-”

“Your Grace,” Fex interrupted, cutting Alexandros off before he could continue. The last thing he needed was the rambling war stories of an old man. 

Almath turned to face him, his eyes falling on the glass of wine in his hands: “Ah, thank you.”

Fex bowed, stepping back and catching the briefest of glares from Alexandros.

“You were saying?” Almath asked, taking a sip from his glass as he turned back to face the wizard.

“Merely that it is a fine thing to know that even after twenty years the memory of war still hangs fresh over our minds,” Alexandros said, a new gravity utterly alien to the usual mood of Ferixi parties entering his voice. “But I bid remind you that an absence of war is not all that is required for peace.”

And with a swirl of his robes, Alexandros turned around and left, crossing with his familiar to the other side of the room. 

“Wizards,” The Prince scoffed once he was gone, taking another sip. 

Fex nodded in silent agreement. He never understood why wizards always insisted on being so dramatic. 

“I suppose I ought to get to making my speech,” Almath suddenly said, a hint of excitement entering his voice. He turned to Fex. “You can go off and do as you like. Now that the introductions are done with, I shan’t be needing a glorified bodyguard hanging over my shoulder.”

“As you command, my Prince,” Fex replied, barely containing his smile. 

And with that, the two were both more than happy to go their separate ways, Almath joining a few other members of the Oculi Aentherium as Fex scanned the room for one of his friends. Officially he should have been guarding the Prince at all times of course, but their mutual animosity for each other led them to often circumvent that rule. Besides there were more than enough guards hanging about one more wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

He’d made it across half the room before the Prince began speaking. He was standing up on a slightly elevated platform with several senior Oculi Aentherium and court functionaries behind him. A podium with his speech stood before him, a mere formality honoring those who fell in the Great War that was to be read before the party actually began and people went deeper into the palace for feasting, dancing, and whatever other festivities had been planned.

“Twenty years to this day,” Almath began, his voice projecting across the room. “The victorious nations of the Great War came together to create a long lasting peace for the world which had known only bloodshed and violence for seven long years. Nobly did we, the allied powers of Ferixon, Nurator, and Sindaria rally together as one, hundreds of millions of souls joined in unison to fight back the evil that assaulted us. Nehkerat, our ancient enemies, driven by bloodshed and hate, Jorantus, ever jealous of our power, and Shinkana, seeking only war for war’s sake. How many died because of their blind hatred, their senseless war-mongering stopped only when the entire city of Calax Memlios, Nehkerat’s capital, was brought to oblivion by the Union-”

“So, see Almath has gotten rid of you as usual.” 

Fex turned, not surprised in the least to see that Lavelia, a Fex’Alvus with long, auburn hair had suddenly appeared next to him. She was wearing a more fashionable dress of black silk with crimson embroidery, so it was difficult from just looking at her to know that she was a member of their order. That was the point of course. Generally, it was best when spying to not be noticed.

Fex’s face lit up with a grin at the sight of her. “Hey, I was really invested in that speech you know. You shouldn’t just go interrupting it.”

Lavelia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it’s simply gripping. A master orator our Prince is. If only he’d been around during the war, he could have won over armies with that silver tongue of his.”

“Eh, a little heavy on the sarcasm, don’t you think?” 

“You’re one to talk,”

“Fair enough,” Fex shrugged. “Still, nice to see our order is so devoted to its work. First Avelor, then me, even you. It’s a wonder the Imperial Family’s survived this long.”

Lavelia smiled slightly: “We younger members can be allowed some fun, can’t we? Youth is meant to be enjoyed and all? I’m sure in a decade or so we’ll all be as stiff and humorless as Valera. Besides, I’ve been assigned for information gathering, which is rather hard to do in the middle of a speech.”

“-the Treaty of Aldaron was a monumental step on the path to global peace-” 

“Yeah, I imagine it would be,” Fex replied thoughtfully, turning back to watch the Prince. “Hey, remember back when we used to travel the country killing things for the Empress?” 

“Back before we were ‘promoted’ you mean?” Lavelia asked, raising an eyebrow. “Stalking through forests, rowdy inns, mountains, and swamps and fighting bandits and Urls or spying on corrupt officials, all while barely making it out alive?”

“Those were the days.”

“Yeah, I miss them too,” 

“-may the Eternal Flame bless their fallen souls-”

“So, any plans for the rest of the night?” Lavelia asked.

“Well...” Fex said, his voice trailing off as his eyes focused on a young noble girl with flowing blond hair. She was pretty, that was for sure, and her position far enough away from the front that he doubted her family would be a problem…

“I see you’ve matured,” Lavelia said, rolling her eyes. “Well, I don’t know who she is, so that probably means she’s irrelevant enough for you to bed without Valera getting mad about it.”

Fex smirked: “Just what I wanted to hear,”

And that was how an hour later Fex found himself pushed up against a wall in some hallway deep in the palace, wrapped in an embrace with a pretty young noble girl as they kissed. It was a common enough scene for him, he couldn’t count how many times he’d snuck away from a party, nor how many times his aunt Valera had scolded him for it. But some thousand miles away from Kal Serena, she could hardly come barging in on him shouting about the honor of the Imperial Family or the dignity of the order, as if he were the sole bastion of irresponsibility marring that otherwise virtuous institution. Life existed to be enjoyed as he said, and he saw no reason to surrender his entire youth to the Reymonte. __

_ Hope everyone’s occupied with the party though,  _ he pondered. It would be terribly awkward, if slightly amusing, should some middling bureaucrat stumble unexpectedly upon them. 

The girl, Esmeria, suddenly broke off and grabbed his hand, bringing it to her face and examining his ring: “So, how did someone like you ever become Shield of the Prince?”

“What do you mean, ‘someone like me’,” He replied in mock admonition, grinning. He leaned in to kiss her again. “Don’t think I’ve done anything yet but display the utmost competence, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You know what I mean,” She giggled, pushing his hand away. “Someone who ends up here rather than actually guarding the Prince.”

“Well, that’s quite a long story.”

“We’ve already been gone long enough for our disappearance to have scandalized the court. No need to get back anytime too soon, right?”

Fex supposed that was reassuring.  _ If she doesn’t care about her standing in the court, her family likely lacks the influence to cause me any serious trouble.  _ He thought.  _ That, or she’s simply a terrible politician.  _

He sighed, deciding he might as well relent. It was a harmless story anyway: “Well, my aunt Valera is the head of the order and Hand of the Empress.”

“Oh, so she decided to show some favoritism to her nephew then?” Esmeria asked.

“Not exactly,” Fex replied, although that seemed an accurate enough description. “See, I’m one of the best in the order with fighting, so in that department I’m more than qualified to guard the Prince. Now, as you might imagine, when it comes to discipline…”

“Hardly need to explain that one,” Esmeria chuckled. 

“So, my dear aunt thought it’d do me good to learn responsibility and the dignity of service to the Crown by thrusting me into an important position,” Fex concluded, smirking as he added. “Not that it worked.”

“Equally self-evident” Esmeria said, smiling and pulling him into another kiss. Fex’s responded in kind as his arms wrapped around her more tightly and he picked her up, starting to carry her to the quarters he’d been given in the palace. She was a good partner for a night he decided. Pretty, pleasant to talk to, and not hard to forget. A perfect little adventure for an otherwise dull evening. And it had all begun with a party...


End file.
